It’s yet another writing prompt from Studio 30+. Just before Mother’s Day.
Endera hated those mini-van windows with the stick figure family progression from Dad (because, of course, he’s always tallest) down through kiddos and even the dog. As usual, Mom is second in line — funny, as she’s probably the one who put the damn things there in the first place. It was comical to see those embellishments on a tough-looking SUV or a sporty little coupe, not what you’d expect on anything but the micro-bussed, soccer-mom-mobiles of the world. Endera was outwardly bitter toward the whole thing, and she couldn’t help but wear it on her sleeve.
She’d been a babysitter most of her young adulthood and always thought she’d wanted kids of her own, but the older she grew the clearer it became that maybe she wasn’t cut out to be a mom. Kids are loud. It was enough to listen to her date yammer on about nothingness, much less the cacophony of a toddler in her house, and the thought of a newborn’s blast was enough to shake her womb into utter rejection. Noise sensitivity came along with age, or at least Endera blamed it on that.
Her own mother’s and grandmother’s nagging hadn’t helped matters. “When are you going to settle down with a nice fella?” “You need to give us a grandbaby sometime, you know!” “There’s nothing like the pitter patter of little … don’t worry, you’ll change your mind.” The best was the admonishment, “Your biological clock is ticking!” They were relentless.
She’d let those lofty illusions simmer in her brain at one time, but the fantasies were long in her past. Way back in her 20s.
Endera had assumed her life with Tate would include those familial fairytales … the four-bedroom house, two kids and the stinky little dog. Her dream version life came complete with a chain-link fence to secure a miniature Schnauzer from being hit by the neighbor’s mini-van. Her future didn’t pan out the way she imagined. But as John Lennon once said, “Life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans.”
She had a decent job, her own SUV and a great apartment in the city. Endera’s social group regular met for happy hour or movies and had dinner at nice restaurants on a regular basis. Her girlfriends set her up with Accountant or Broker friends of their husbands, so she had a very satisfying sex life and things to do.
Her disappointment stemmed from Tate breaking his promise. It was only a proposal, after all. He didn’t actually say “till death do we part” in front of everyone — he’d only hinted at those sentiments in private, in the dark after they’d been intimate. He’d led her on like a puppy, and she hated herself for believing his lies. Sometimes she’d catch herself digging her perfectly French tipped nails into her palms so deeply in unconscious anger that she had almost ruined her fresh manicure before she stopped.
Little did Endera know what he actually had in mind, that he was more intent on keeping his affair with a co-worker secret. Their private meetings had gone on in those hours of “working late” and happy hours that were only for the guys at work. Yeah … the guys. That group wasn’t supposed to include the one with a surgically enhanced rack and fake-ass veneers. Those same sparkling teeth had been flashed at Endera in false greeting when she’d stopped by Tate’s office once to surprise him with lunch.
Her cell phone’s buzz surprised Endera out of her temporary catatonia, and she released the tight grip of her fists. Uncurling her fingers revealed four perfect crescent-shaped indentations across each palm. She shook out her hands and answered the incoming call. A high-pitched ramble emerged from the phone, “Hello, sweetheart! How are you? Do you have a date tonight?”
It was her mother. Endera released a weighty, yet silent, sigh. She replied, “No, Mom. Sorry to disappoint you. I’m staying in tonight.”